Give An Inch, Take a MegaMile
by ryagelle
Summary: Ratchet is fed up with Sideswipe's nonsense. Set sometime between Cave Canem and Lapsus Memoriae. Ratchet/Sunstreaker, Ratchet/Sideswipe, Prowl/Jazz, Red Alert/Inferno, Wheeljack/Bluestreak, G1, warnings for plug'n'play.


A/N: So it seems that I'm not really gone after all--just suffering from a complete lack of webbernetz due to having moved out of the hell-hole I had previously occupied. New place is much nicer, but that pesky lack of internet... sigh

In any case, I return from the dead to say that, yes, Lapsus Memoriae is being worked on--chapter 8 _should_ be finished shortly--and I bring gift-fic to keep those who are reading it occupied until I get it posted! Wrote this (rather long OO) piece for sbanchs for her birthday, and, as it met with her approval, decided to go ahead and post it. Unbeta'd so please feel free to correct my mistakes.

ALSO, because I'm a retarded monkey and a Bad Friend, I neglected to mention that this fic _largely_ came into being because rageai came up with the idea and goaded me into writing it. We certainly spent far more hours than is probably sane roleplaying this and giggling hysterically, and I would be remiss in not giving credit where credit is due. So yeah, without her this fic would probably never have been written. And now she'll prolly knock me silly for doing this, but I deserve it. -.-;

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"I've had it," Ratchet muttered, stomping toward the command center. "I'm going to disassemble him and rebuild him as a Buick station wagon. A _1970's_ model. With wood paneling. No, _faux_ wood paneling!" Sunstreaker walked beside him, though he was not actually going to be attending the officers' meeting Prime had called—they were to discuss the fate of one red menace whose name just happened to be Sideswipe. The yellow Lamborghini grumbled something in agreement; even he was unwilling to do anything else when the medic was in a true snit.

Though he felt that his brother did deserve _some_ credit for managing to sneak a skunk into the Aerialbots' quarters without anyone catching him in the act.

The first they learned of it was when the whole team of flyers had trooped into the medbay, stinking to high heaven and looking thoroughly miserable, and it did not take long for Red Alert to find out the culprit. Recapturing the skunk, however, had proved a bit more hazardous, and several other mechs—most notably Hound and Beachcomber—had ended up having to join the Aerials in the medbay. The stench had risen to near-unbearable levels. Sunstreaker almost felt sorry for Hound, with his finely-tuned olfactory sensors.

Didn't mean he wouldn't avoid the medbay like the plague, though. _Primus,_ but that smell was horrible. Organic creatures were so _disgusting_.

He gave his furious bondmate a sideways glance, wondering if he could get away with edging a little further from him; Ratchet still smelt faintly of the skunk himself, having been in close proximity with the unfortunate victims who'd been sprayed with the animal's foul liquid defense.

He was actually relieved when the medic disappeared into the command center, since he took the scent with him. Knowing that this would likely take a while and involve much shaking of heads and 'what are we to do with him's, he settled himself down to wait.

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Ratchet had to admit that he was still in a spectacularly bad mood when he joined the other officers to decide Sideswipe's fate. It was a given that the red Lamborghini would spend a few nights in the brig; in fact he was already there, idly needling the unfortunate mech set to guard him.

However, both Prime and Prowl had come to the conclusion that brig time was insufficient to curb Sideswipe's… exuberant… behavior, and had decided to convene the rest of the command element to discuss the issue. Ratchet had not really wanted to come, considering he had mechs in his medbay—that, and he really hadn't wanted to deal with that particular _look_ that everyone tended to give him when Sideswipe misbehaved.

Yeah, the one everyone was giving him right now.

_It's not like I'm his keeper,_ the medic thought irritably, giving everyone a heavy dose of glare and making them all fidget except for Prowl, who wasn't giving him the look in the first place.

At least no one commented on the faint stench that clung to his armor despite all of the scrubbing he'd done. He'd have probably gone off on the poor hapless fool who dared.

Prime made a noise akin to a human clearing his throat—something he'd likely picked up from Sparkplug or Spike—in a request for everyone's attention. Some of the awkwardness dissipated as they all turned to their leader, and a little of the tension eased out of Ratchet's frame.

"So," Prime began calmly, "I'm sure you all have a pretty good idea as to why we're here." Ratchet did not miss the nearly imperceptible flick of optics in his direction. "The Aerialbots' quarters will have to be thoroughly scrubbed before they're habitable again—and a way will have to be found to remove the scent from everyone who's been sprayed, as well."

"Of course, we've… volunteered… Sideswipe for cleanup duty as far as the Aerials' quarters go, but previous experience tells us that this will most likely not have a long-term impact on his…proclivities," Prowl interjected, irritation leaking into his smooth voice though his face betrayed no emotion. His gaze turned to Ratchet—_here it comes_, the medic thought grimly. "Ratchet, if you could give us any insight into _why_ he does these things—"

"It's called a terminal case of bored and stupid," Ratchet interrupted bluntly, ignoring the muffled sniggering that erupted throughout the room, "and it is unfortunately incurable." He paused, optics narrowing. "Look, I'm not his babysitter," he added. "He listens to me as and when it pleases him. Which is to say, not often."

"Perhaps, then, you might know something that would act as an effective deterrent. Certainly nothing _we've_ tried has worked," Prowl replied, mouth twisting in a little moue of annoyance. "One would think that he would not wish to overtly displease you."

Wheeljack snorted derisively. Ratchet shook his head. "Actually—he's been _more_ likely to test my patience since we were bonded. And as far as a deterrent goes…honestly, do you think I haven't tried? To Sideswipe, any amount of punishment detail afterward is worth the attention that it gains him. If there were some way to deny him the positive attention while teaching him a lesson at the same time—" He stopped, and a peculiar look came over his face. "Prime, may I speak to you? Alone?" he asked, voice oddly strained.

Prime and Prowl exchanged questioning glances. "Certainly," and the Autobot leader waved the CMO over to one side of the room, far enough away that they wouldn't be eavesdropped on.

"I take it you have an idea, old friend?" Optimus rumbled, regarding Ratchet thoughtfully.

"I do, or rather, Sunstreaker and I do," the medic answered grimly, "but I'm not certain you'll want to go along with it."

Prime's optics widened—what could Ratchet possibly suggest doing to his own bondmate that he wouldn't approve of?

"Well," he said cautiously, "let's hear it, at least."

Ratchet shifted uncomfortably for a moment and then, steeling his courage, said, "I need you to chain him up down there, hands and feet apart so that he has to stand and he can't touch himself. And then I need you to give me and Sunny the next two days off."

Optimus frowned at him, optic ridges lowering in confusion. "I'm afraid I don't follow…?"

The medic's lips thinned as he pressed them together tightly; he almost looked embarrassed, or squeamish, when Optimus knew that he was prone to neither. "Just… trust me on this, Prime. He may still have the morals of a Seeker when this is over, but it should at least make him think twice before he does something stupid again." He looked exasperated at Prime's dubious expression. "Look, it's not like I _can_ do anything to hurt him even if I wanted to," he said impatiently.

"Well…" Optimus hesitated, and then sighed in resignation. "I do trust you," he said finally. "It will be done."

Ratchet nodded decisively, satisfied. "Also, you might want to post a guard down there that can keep a straight face and will ignore his begging—my suggestion is Grimlock, or perhaps Ironhide." Prime nodded as they made their way back to the rest of the group.

"Well?" Red Alert asked waspishly. "I take it you've come up with something?"

"Quite," Prime said calmly, and explained what Ratchet wanted done.

Jazz and Blaster understood immediately; the saboteur clapped both hands over his mouth to keep from bursting into laughter. The communications officer had no such compunction. Prowl twitched when Jazz informed him of what Ratchet meant to do, lips quirking upward in a smile before he could stop himself.

"So you mean to tell me," Blaster said, still giggling helplessly, "that you intend to spend the next two days interfacing with Sunstreaker and letting Sideswipe feel it, while denying him the ability to, ah, _relieve_ himself?"

Ratchet cocked his head to the side, pretending to think it over. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, that about sums it up," he said mildly, optics glinting in amusement.

Ironhide laughed out loud. "My friend, yer an evil, evil mech," he snickered. Ratchet affected embarrassed pride.

"Aw, shucks, 'Hide, you always say the nicest things," he said, laughter edging his voice.

"Well, I _do_ try," the security officer drawled, smirking.

"All right, gentlemechs, I'd say it's time to put this plan in action," Prowl announced, clapping his hands together almost cheerfully. "Ratchet, I've cleared your schedule, along with Sunstreaker's, for the next two days—and Grimlock is already on his way down to the brig to chain Sideswipe up and then stand guard. You may begin when ready."

Ratchet grinned and inclined his head in thanks, and then took himself from the room.

Sunstreaker uncoiled himself from his seat when he saw his bondmate; he did not miss the smugly amused expression on the medic's face.

"I take it they accepted the plan?" the yellow mech asked, almost predatory as he padded along beside Ratchet on their way to their quarters.

Ratchet gave him a devious grin. "This is going to be so much fun." Sunstreaker laughed.

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Sideswipe looked up and frowned when he saw Grimlock step into the brig carrying a fistful of reinforced titanium chains. "Hey, Grim," he said cautiously. The big Dinobot made no reply, merely dismissing the hapless Powerglide, who'd been bearing the brunt of Sideswipe's insults for the past… however long he'd been in here this time. He'd stopped marking the hours a while ago.

He did not truly start to feel uneasy, however, until Grimlock unlocked and stepped into his cell, holding the chains up in front of him. Sideswipe backed away in alarm.

"What're you gonna do with those?" the Lamborghini demanded, though it had become fairly obvious that the tyrannosaur meant to use them on him.

"Him Prime say tie you up. So you Sideswipe hold still," Grimlock grunted, capturing one black wrist and clapping a manacle on it.

"_Prime_ said to tie me up?" Sideswipe squeaked, forgetting to fight the Dinobot's hold in his astonishment.

Well _this_ was a new development.

Grimlock rumbled with amusement. "Well," he clarified, "him _Prowl_ actually say, tie you up, but order come from Prime."

"Huh," the red warrior muttered, testing the restraints Grimlock had just finished fastening on his wrists while the tyrannosaur moved on to his feet. It was not uncomfortable, he thought, though he couldn't bring either hands or feet close to his body. He wondered what in the name of Primus they meant by all this.

Finally, Grimlock retreated from the cell and took up Powerglide's guard post, watching the Lamborghini with unblinking optics.

_Well this is about as entertaining as watching paint dry,_ he thought to himself, staring back at Grimlock with his best guileless expression.

Not that it had any effect on the unsympathetic Dinobot.

Finally he broke the stare, fidgeting a little in his chains and beginning to become tense with waiting for the other shoe to drop.

…Then he became aware of what his brother and his bondmate were doing.

_Oh, Primus, not now!_ His posture became stiff as he felt little tendrils of phantom pleasure curl through his circuits, faintly echoing what Ratchet and Sunstreaker were feeling. His fingers twitched, but he held himself still, unwilling to let Grimlock know what was going on.

_Just hold on, and they'll be finished soon,_ he told himself, unable to resist shifting uncomfortably. Grimlock's optic band brightened with interest, and Sideswipe got the distinct impression of a smirk despite the blank faceplate. He stood there and prayed to Primus that his fans didn't kick on; he could sense Ratchet trailing kisses up the inside of Sunstreaker's thighs and across his hips while the yellow Lamborghini writhed with short, sharp moans. Sideswipe clenched his hands into fists.

_I can handle this._

His hands suddenly began to tingle with sympathetic pleasure when Sunstreaker snatched up one of the medic's hands. His brother began to lavish attention on the red fingers—and Sideswipe couldn't help gasping along with Ratchet when Sunny started drawing each digit into his mouth one by one and sucking on them gently.

He really wanted to wipe that smugly knowing look off of Grimlock's face.

He had finally schooled himself to stillness once again when his fans kicked on, whirring loudly enough that he knew Grimlock could hear them. His engine rumbled an unsteady bass counterpoint, further confirming what he was feeling; he wished he could melt into the floor.

_Ngh, Primus, why did they have to do this _now_, of all times?_ Sideswipe lamented to himself, unable to stop a soft whimper when he felt the other two plug into each other. His systems were running almost unbearably hot, and he was unconsciously straining against his chains in an attempt to touch his own chassis for some measure of relief.

At this point, he no longer had the willpower to even _think_ of blocking them out. He rode the rising tide of pleasure with them, just disconnected from them enough that it was nothing more than a cruel tease and would not actually force him into overload. He wondered briefly if they were aware of the effect they were having on him.

And then they were overloading and _oh Primus_ and his systems were right on the ragged mother edge but it wasn't enough, wasn't enough…!

He sagged in his chains, engine loping and revving wildly and the fading pleasure leaving him aching with the loss of release.

He couldn't bear to look at Grimlock.

He felt Ratchet and Sunstreaker curl up together, languorous with satisfaction, and wished with his entire spark that he could be there with them. His systems slowly calmed, core temperature coming down and the sharp almost-pain of thwarted desire leaving him.

And then they started all over again.

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Up in the command center, all of the remaining officers stared with wide optics at the monitor on which Red Alert had called up the view of the brig.

"That was… unexpectedly hot," Blaster said mildly, making a show of fanning himself.

Jazz wolf-whistled, and Prowl gave him a disgruntled look.

"Here he goes again," Red Alert commented, never taking his optics off of the screen. "They let him wind down just enough to take the edge off." They all—including Prowl and Prime—returned their attention to the video feed.

"You've _got_ to be _kidding_ me!" Sideswipe shouted, his voice tinny and strained through the monitor's audio.

Everyone stared as the red mech went from squirming uncomfortably to cursing and yelping to moaning raggedly.

"Those boys really know what they're doing, don't they?" Blaster asked rhetorically, watching Sideswipe try in vain to bring his hands in close to his body.

"Oh, _Ratchet_ knows what he's doing at least, I know that for a _fact_," Ironhide leered. All attention turned to him for a startled moment. "What?" he asked innocently. "We've known each other since we were younglings. And younglings _do_ tend to… experiment." Wheeljack snickered at everyone's expressions; surprisingly, so did Prime.

A frustrated bellow brought their focus back to the monitor—apparently Sideswipe had been left unsatisfied once again.

Loud in the following silence, Red Alert's fans whirred to life.

"If you'll excuse me," the security director said stiffly, betraying no embarrassment. With that, he turned and very calmly fled the room.

Jazz and Optimus, standing next to each other, exchanged glances and then, as one, collapsed into fits of laughter, hanging on to each other for support.

"So very unprofessional," Prowl tutted, doorwings twitching with the effort of holding back his own amusement.

"Like what we're doing is professional," Jazz chortled, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the now vilely swearing Sideswipe. Prime cocked his head, listening to the stream of invective leaving the red Lamborghini's vocalizer.

"Oh dear," he said, snickering. "I somehow doubt that's physically possible." Jazz went into fresh peals of amusement, which only set Optimus off again.

"Y'know, someone should probably give Inferno a heads up," Ironhide said absently. Most of his attention was still on the screen, where Sideswipe was beginning to twitch once more.

"Way ahead of you," Jazz said cheerfully, finally recovering somewhat from his laughter.

"At least Inferno's not on patrol," Wheeljack grumbled good-naturedly. "Blue won't be back for hours."

Ironhide gave the engineer a rakish grin. "I could help you, 'Jack."

Wheeljack chuckled. "And have to deal with Bluestreak's hysterics afterward? You know I appreciate the offer, 'Hide, but no." The red and grey mech just laughed in response.

Several hours later, after watching as Sideswipe was finally reduced to begging for _Grimlock_ to come help him—the Dinobot had merely snorted and shaken his head, at which point Jazz proclaimed him a saint—Prowl finally declared that he'd seen enough and dragged his cackling bondmate from the room by one of his horns. One by one the rest of them began to leave as well; Prime, the last out, and still chuckling to himself over just how angry Sideswipe was going to be when he finally got out of that cell, switched the monitor off as he left. It certainly wouldn't do for the rank and file to get wind of their officers laughing like hyenas over such an… unorthodox… punishment.

And they _certainly_ didn't need to know how _else_ seeing the undeniably beautiful red warrior twisting and moaning in his chains had affected them all.

…Blaster was currently unattached. Prime wondered if he might be amenable to some company for the night.

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There was definitely something to be said for having Ratchet's undivided attention, Sunstreaker thought muzzily. The white mech was currently sprawled across his chest, head pillowed on one yellow shoulder; that last overload had knocked them both offline for a moment. Sunstreaker, perhaps because he was younger, perhaps because he was a warrior model and designed for greater endurance, had been the first to wake. They still had a few more hours to go before Sideswipe was to be released and they would return to some semblance of normalcy.

The yellow Lamborghini fumbled at a side table for one of the energon cubes they'd had the foresight to arrange on it, and somehow he managed to raise himself up enough to gulp a few mouthfuls down. Ratchet shifted restlessly at his movement, finally beginning to wake. Sunstreaker pressed the cube to the medic's lips, forcing him to either finish it off or choke.

"'M gonna recharge for a week when this is over," Ratchet muttered thickly when Sunny finally took the cube away, optics still shuttered. "_Primus_."

"We've still got some time left. And plenty of energon," Sunstreaker said quietly.

His bondmate unshuttered one optic briefly. "Gimme a minute," he groaned. "I forgot that the last time I did something like this, I was a lot younger."

"Do I even want to know?"

Both optics open now, looking at him wearily. "Probably not," was the wry answer.

Sunstreaker snorted and looked away; something in his expression must have prompted Ratchet to touch his cheek and turn his face back toward him.

"Hey. I love you," the medic said, and kissed him softly. His mouth still tasted faintly of energon, and the residual energy made Sunstreaker's lips and dental plating tingle pleasantly. He was surprised when the slow burn of desire began to pool in his circuits once again; it had become increasingly difficult to get worked up enough to overload as time progressed.

This time though—there was no frantic need, just the sweet warmth of Ratchet's mouth slanting over his own, the uncomplicated press of their entangled bodies. Sunstreaker only realized that their interface cables were still connected when the medic began sending languorous, almost soothing pulses of energy across the link. It was comfortable, and comforting, and he was astonished to realize that his systems were reacting with heat. Someone moaned, and he recognized his own voice, strange in his audios.

Ratchet was trailing tender kisses from his mouth, along his jaw, down his throat, and he mewled in pleasure, tilting his chin up to give the medic better access. His hands slid of their own volition across the white chassis to grip red hips; his fingers slipped into the seams of armor there and stroked sensitive cabling. The medic gasped against his neck, hips bucking into Sunstreaker's hands and scraping deliciously against the insides of his thighs. He hooked one leg over the back of one of Ratchet's, creating more of that wonderful friction as the white mech writhed.

Suddenly the ambulance began seeking out and stimulating the Lamborghini's most sensitive spots; Sunstreaker's engine revved powerfully, coaxing an answering rev from his partner. The yellow warrior could feel the heat coming off of Ratchet's frame and knew that he was just as hot, that if he looked he would probably be able to see the heat distortion in the air around them. His thermoregulators flashed red warning at him in his visuals.

Ratchet's breath started hitching in his intakes, quick little gasps that made Sunstreaker's breath catch in sympathetic response. "Oh—oh, S-Sunny… I—I'm going to—" then the medic's voice dissolved into a deep, static-laced moan, and he stiffened in overload. The sound, along with the wash of sensation flooding him through the link, was enough to push the yellow mech headlong into his own overload, and electricity crackled over his frame as he cried out helplessly. They lay trembling and spent in the aftermath, clinging to each other.

Sunstreaker slowly came to realize that he was petting Ratchet's rounded audio receptors with a shaking hand; the ambulance turned his head and captured the hand in his own, pressing a kiss to the palm. Sunstreaker shivered and wrapped both arms around the medic, holding him tightly.

"I don't pay you nearly enough attention, do I?" Ratchet asked softly, tracing aimless little patterns on his bondmate's yellow chestplate.

Sunstreaker hesitated. "Sideswipe… does seem to get the lion's share, at least in public," he admitted cautiously. "I don't really mind," he added quickly. "I'm not one to wear my spark out in the open for everyone to see."

"I know," Ratchet murmured, cuddling in a little closer. "I still don't care much for people thinking I favor your brother over you. I don't love him any more than I love you, and vice versa."

The yellow mech shrugged and sat up, still holding the medic in his arms. "That last bit is all that matters to me. I don't give a damn what anyone else thinks," he said, very matter-of-fact. He reached for another of the energon cubes on the side table, this time handing Ratchet a full one before taking one for himself.

"Mother hen," Ratchet grumbled half-heartedly, not-so-secretly pleased at being coddled. Sunstreaker just arched an optic ridge and stared at him until he finished the cube. The medic began to say more after setting the empty container down, but their comm. unit chirped for attention, interrupting him. Ratchet suspected that the fresh fuel he'd just consumed was the only reason that he managed to make it all the way across the room to the comm.; he was staggering like a new-sparked 'bot. Sunstreaker laughed at him until he dared the yellow mech to try walking himself.

He pressed the 'receive' button on the comm., and Jazz's face filled the screen. "Thought you'd like to know that they're lettin' Siders out now," the saboteur said without preamble, "though Prowl has some plans for him before we turn him loose completely." He snickered a little. "Awfully nice of him to clean up the mess he made in the Aerials' quarters, ain't it?"

"Awfully," Ratchet agreed mildly, nodding. "Now if you'll excuse me, I believe I've got some recharge to catch up on." He cut the connection to the sound of Jazz laughing uproariously. He had a feeling that there would be plenty of ribbing and knowing looks when the two of them finally emerged from their quarters. He wondered if this was how it had felt to be a new-bonded mech before the war, on the day after the bonding ceremony. Certainly the teasing was similar enough. And then he wished he could have _had_ a bonding ceremony, but he shook himself out of that line of wishful thinking. He could content himself with the knowledge that he was lucky to have bondmates who, while exasperating enough to drive him up the wall, were caring and loyal to the last.

Sunstreaker was already drowsing when he crawled back into the berth; the yellow mech shifted almost unconsciously to accommodate his bulky form. Sunny wrapped an arm around him and pulled him closer, and then slipped fully into recharge with a satisfied sigh. It was not long before the quiet hum of his bondmate's systems lulled him under as well.

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Sideswipe was embarrassed to realize that his knees were wobbly enough to make him need Ironhide's support when the red and grey warrior entered his cell to unchain him. He couldn't quite meet the older mech's gaze; he'd pleaded with him for relief just as much as he'd done with Grimlock, and it was terribly discomfiting that he'd let himself become so needy that he'd risk hurting his bondmate and his brother just to reach release.

Then when Prowl came in he'd been so certain that it was over and he could go back to his quarters to, ah, take care of things, that the bucket full of cleaning supplies the tactician held out hadn't really registered with him.

"You didn't think you'd get out of cleaning the Aerialbots' quarters, did you?" Prowl had asked, in mock astonishment, and so Sideswipe had trudged up out of the brig to do just that. He complained under his breath the whole way, though.

It was _so_ not fair. Surely they _knew_ what he'd gone through in that cell? Red Alert had security cameras up all over the place, after all.

It hadn't taken long for Sideswipe to figure out that Ratchet meant to teach him a lesson, and while he certainly felt no regret for pranking the Aerials, he _had_ learned a new rule:

Making Ratchet mad equals bad idea.

Not that he wasn't going to nail the medic to the wall and have his way with him the very next time he saw him. He didn't think he would be able to stop himself, honestly.

It took him _hours_ to remove the stench from the Aerials' rooms to Prowl's satisfaction—and the Sub-commander stood over him the entire time to make sure he didn't miss anything. And then, when he finally got back to his quarters, so exhausted he could barely move but still practically _humming_ with suppressed desire, he flipped on the lights to find Ratchet and Sunstreaker recharging so soundly that they never even flinched at the sudden illumination. For a while he just stood and cursed vehemently and then, after shutting off the lights, he climbed into the berth with the others in resignation.

That son of a glitch had certainly planned this very thoroughly.

Sideswipe tensed when Ratchet, out of unconscious habit, slung an arm across him and pulled him close; even that much contact was too much for his raw sensor net, and his engine revved loud before he could throttle it back. Ratchet shifted, optics just slits of blue in the darkness.

"Sides…?" The medic's voice was rough with sleep.

With a sobbing moan, the red warrior yanked Ratchet up flush against him, waking him thoroughly and kissing him senseless. For a moment the white mech reciprocated, and then, unthinkably, he was pushing Sideswipe away.

"Sides," he protested, hands on the red chestplate keeping him from coming closer, "I'm exhausted…!"

"Please…please!" He could not help but beg, plating afire where he had pressed against the other mech.

"Sideswipe—no!" Ratchet said firmly—and then promptly rolled back over and cycled his systems back into recharge.

Sideswipe just stared in disbelief and shock. Ratchet had never actually turned him down so completely before, and it hurt. Pouting, he slid back out of the berth; he wasn't going to be able to recharge like this anyway.

He made his way across the room and flopped down on the couch that was arranged in front of the entertainment center he and his brother had set up. He wallowed there restlessly, uncomfortable in his own derma-plating, and then, tentatively, he smoothed a hand down the front of his own body. He spread his legs wider to dip his fingers into the sensitive seams at his groin, pretending it was Ratchet touching him, and uttered a soft gasp at the heavy pulse of pleasure that surged through his circuits. The other hand he lifted to fondle the stubby auditory horns on his helm, and he moaned quietly as they sparked from the attention. It wasn't the same though, could never be the same, and the pleasure felt somehow shallow and unfulfilling.

Eventually he gave up, for once unable to bring himself to overload, though normally he would have had no difficulty. Then he curled himself into a miserable ball on the couch, and slipped into an uneasy recharge.

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"Sideswipe, I'm busy," Ratchet snapped irritably, immediately contrite at the harshness of his tone when he saw the red Lamborghini's kicked puppy expression, though it was the third time today he'd had to fend off his advances.

Honestly, Ratchet was fairly satisfied that Sideswipe had learned his lesson, and really would have had no problem giving in to said advances, except for two things: one, he was helping Hoist wade through quarterly maintenance checks, and two, he was still sore as the fragging Pit. (He had to admit, though, that it had perversely made him feel better when Sunstreaker had sidled up to him that morning at the beginning of his shift, confessing under his breath that he nearly couldn't move.) A single night of recharge had not been enough to let him recover, and he felt creaky and stiff, as though the lubricant in his joints had solidified overnight. So when Sideswipe traded with Eject to be his next appointment for the purpose of catching him alone, the medic had regretfully ended up turning him down again.

He could tell that the warrior was getting frustrated; Pit, anyone with optic sensors could tell that he was getting frustrated. Sideswipe was tense and uncooperative throughout his maintenance check, until finally Ratchet swore at him and told him not to be such a sparkling.

"Please, Ratch!" Sideswipe begged, pinning him with the most endearing look that the Lamborghini could muster. Ratchet sighed.

"Sideswipe, I am tired, we're in a public area, and I've got a lot more mechs to get through to finish these damn physicals," he said wearily. "Now, I'll slot you in tomorrow to replace that rotator cuff; it's got more wear on it than I care to see."

The red mech blinked, sidetracked for a moment. "What happens if it goes out?" he asked warily.

Ratchet shrugged. "Your shoulder will freeze up, and it could possibly damage some of the other components of the joint. It'll hold until tomorrow, though, no problem."

"…Oh."

The medic gave him a wry look at his doubtful tone. "You'll be fine, Sides. Nothing to really worry about, at least in the short run, and we're not gonna let it go long enough to be an issue."

"Oh," Sideswipe repeated, this time lowering his gaze. "It _has_ been bothering me, a little," he admitted. When he looked back up at Ratchet, his optics were hopeful once more. "Could I at least have a kiss?" he asked plaintively, clearly unwilling to give up completely.

"Sideswipe…" the ambulance sighed again—a habit he couldn't seem to shake around either of the twins. "All right," he finally, reluctantly, acquiesced, and Sideswipe made a happy little noise and pulled him close. Ratchet could feel a little of his bondmate's disappointment that he kept the kiss chaste, though.

"Go on, now," the CMO ordered gently, afterwards. "I really do need to get on with these."

"Hmph," the Lamborghini grunted. "Want me to send in the next victim?" he asked grumpily, sliding off of the exam table.

"Please," Ratchet said, not bothering to rise to the bait as Sideswipe obviously wanted him to. The medic could do nothing but shake his head as the red mech huffed and flounced out the door—more obedient he may have been, but he was also becoming more petulant as the day wore on.

Ratchet just hoped that Sideswipe held on to his patience long enough to let him recover from the past two days.

…He was doomed.

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"Next," Sideswipe called dully as he walked back out to the area where the next few mechs in line were waiting—and just his luck, Jazz, Prowl, and Prime were there too, apparently checking on the medics' progress. Every officer he'd met today had been inexplicably amused as soon as they saw him, and these three were no exception. Though he couldn't be certain, Sideswipe had a sneaking suspicion as to what they found so funny. Especially considering Red Alert had been one of the officers laughing at him.

It made him seethe.

"What's the matter, Sideswipe?" Prime asked, his voice perfectly solicitous even as his optics gleamed with suppressed laughter.

"Yeah, you look like someone really stuck a stick in your spokes," Jazz quipped, not bothering to hide his smile. Even Prowl's lips twitched a little, though he said nothing.

"A minor setback. It's nothing I can't handle," Sideswipe replied, saccharine sweet.

"That's the spirit, Sideswipe," Prime said heartily, and he startled the Lamborghini by clapping him on the shoulder with a paternal hand. "Truly there is nothing that we can't overcome with some willpower and determination, and through adversity we become stronger as a person." Sideswipe gaped at him; of all the times for Prime to be spouting off one of his damned inspirational speeches…!

"Uhh… y-yessir," he stuttered—and then nearly short-circuited in shock when, out of _nowhere_, Prowl simply started _cackling_, gasping for breath between guffaws and slowly sinking to the ground as though his legs would no longer support him. Jazz hurried to help him, but the tactician just shook his head and kept laughing, though he did lean up against the Porsche weakly, covering his face with his hands in a vain effort to muffle his giggling. Everyone else just gaped at the spectacle.

"Primus," someone said. Sideswipe thought it was Cliffjumper.

Jazz looked back up at Optimus and said, deadpan, "I think you broke him, Prime."

Prime blinked at him. "…I'm sorry?"

The saboteur waved his hand dismissively. "Nah, I've been trying to get him to laugh like that for ages," he said cheerfully. Prowl had finally subsided into snickering, though he still leaned up against Jazz's legs, clutching at him with one hand while the other stayed covering his face. He kept peeking out through his fingers and getting a glimpse of Sideswipe standing next to Prime with a poleaxed expression; the sight only served to renew his mirth.

Ratchet poked his head out of his exam room. "What the frag is…?" he trailed off as he took in the scene, and his optics grew round. "Are you alright?" he asked, staring at Prowl—and the tactician went into fresh peals of laughter. Ratchet contemplated the sight for about a minute before announcing that he really didn't want to know and retreating back into his room. Of course, he managed to snag Fireflight's arm as he went past, and the hapless jet meeped as he was dragged off—apparently he was the next in line for his maintenance check.

"This whole place has gone crazy, and you're all a bunch of sicko perverts," Sideswipe said angrily, and stomped through the door without a backward glance. Prowl's laughter followed him out.

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Three days.

Three days of knowing looks, of muffled sniggering when he passed, of his brother's insufferable smugness. Three days since Ratchet apparently decided to avoid him.

Three days, Sideswipe decided, was his limit.

Somehow, outside of spending half of one day in medbay getting his rotator-thingamawhatsit replaced, Ratchet had managed to elude him entirely, and Sideswipe couldn't quite determine if it was on purpose or not. It seemed as though every time they managed to be in their quarters together, the medic was either recharging or just leaving.

This was positively intolerable.

So, Sideswipe decided that it didn't matter what Ratchet was doing or where when he caught up to him next—Sideswipe was going to pounce on him. He began stalking the halls, looking for his wayward bondmate, knowing he wasn't in his quarters because he'd already checked.

First stop was medbay, but a confused First Aid wasn't sure where Ratchet had gone. Next he checked Wheeljack's lab—Wheeljack could only shrug. Rec. room turned up nothing, as did the command center. Finally, in frustration, he bulled his way into the medic's mind—and caught a glimpse of blue sky and desert rock.

Ah. Outside, then.

He quickly retreated from the bond before Ratchet could retaliate, and then shifted into alt mode so he could get to the _Ark_'s entrance faster. Thankfully, there was only one set of recent tracks, and he didn't have to follow them far to find his bondmate, who was staring pensively off into the scrub. Frankly, Sideswipe was surprised that the medic had made no move to leave; he'd more than half expected him to. He transformed and watched in silence.

In a low voice, and without turning to look at him, Ratchet said, "Took you long enough."

"Took me…?!" At first all Sideswipe could do was stand and sputter. "Why you…!"

Ratchet snorted inelegantly. "Have you learned your lesson?" he asked bluntly, finally facing the red Lamborghini.

Sideswipe gave him a sour look. "If by lesson you mean have I learned not to piss you off, then yes," he muttered.

"And are you going to do it again?"

"…No."

Ratchet cocked his head to the side, regarded him thoughtfully. "…Alright, then. Come here," and he held his arm out to Sideswipe. And as irritated as the red mech was at being treated like an errant sparkling, he was too eager to argue. He flew into Ratchet's arms, wrapped his own around the medic's waist as they pulled him tightly up against the white chassis. He sighed quietly in relief at the contact, and his mouth sought Ratchet's of its own volition.

The medic did not pull away from his kiss, in fact allowed him to deepen it, and a soft murmur of appreciation escaped his vocalizer. Long suppressed arousal burned through the red twin's circuitry, bringing with it a dull almost-ache from the many times it had been left unsatisfied.

"Please, I need you," Sideswipe whined, and he could feel, via the bond, the first tendrils of desire beginning to curl through Ratchet's frame. :Please, I love you.: The medic shuddered beneath him, flame of desire flaring into conflagration, and Sideswipe realized that he'd borne the other mech to the ground.

Briefly, he worried that perhaps he was abusing his greater strength, forcing Ratchet into something that he didn't _truly_ want but lacked the ability to protest. And then the medic's mind, entwined with his own, soothed away his fear, and he ceased to think at all.

It took an embarrassingly short time. A few deft caresses to his horns, and a red hand tweaking his too-sensitive wiring, and Sideswipe overloaded before Ratchet ever even plugged into him. He was shaking when he finally came down from the sensory high, and nearly cringed when he discovered that his partner hadn't overloaded—was not even close.

"S-Sorry," he managed—and Ratchet laughed.

"Actually, I kind of expected it," he replied, before Sideswipe could get thoroughly outraged, "considering the extenuating circumstances." It didn't make the red mech feel any better about the way the medic's engine still rumbled unsteadily, betraying his arousal.

"Here," Ratchet said, knowing everything that he was thinking and feeling through their bond, and he reached up to caress Sideswipe's horns again. His other hand delved into a transformation seam in the Lamborghini's side, stroking circuitry and gently pinching wires—and, between the stimulation and the need that the medic was projecting in powerful waves, Sideswipe was suddenly burning with desire once more.

His hands busied themselves with finding his lover's own hot spots, touching and teasing until he could sense Ratchet hovering on the knife's edge; then he reached down and stroked the coverplate over the medic's interface port, hearing the click as it snapped open immediately.

Ratchet gave a choked cry and very nearly overloaded when his bondmate dipped his fingers into the port and drew out the cable nestled inside, and it took all of their combined willpower to stave off the end when Sideswipe finished connecting both of their cables. The first pulse of energy and data across the link, however, proved to be their undoing; they moaned and clutched each other fiercely as waves of pleasure rocked them to the core.

"That was a little more like it," Ratchet said dazedly, when he could finally speak again.

"Mm-hmm," Sideswipe agreed drowsily. He thought that perhaps he could stay like this forever and be content. He pressed a lazy kiss to the windshield his head was pillowed on, and then propped his chin on it so that he could look into the medic's optics.

"So when are you gonna spend a couple of days with me like you did with Sunstreaker?"

"…I can't give you an inch, can I?"

"Nope."


End file.
